It’s a little surreal to wake up the morning of your diagnostic ultrasound. It’s sort of like going to court to find out if that weed money you used to pay for your expensive dental treatment will send you to the slammer or not. (That was *actually* my dream that night). Will my life from this moment on be much more difficult or will I be lucky and live an “easy” life. Why do I deserve an easier path than someone who didn’t get that lucky sentencing. Answer: I don’t. We’re all equals in this game of boob roulette. i.e. boobette.
What does one wear to a mammogram? Probably not a dress. That was a good decision considering your x-ray gown is a shirt type deal and if you aren’t wearing pants you are one super slutty patient. Jeans it is. I kissed my family goodbye and headed off to my sentencing.
Of course my GPS didn’t pick up the location. NBD, I’ll use my phone. Then I thought about the irony of dying in a car crash while looking at my phone on the way to your diagnostic mammogram. And THEN I realized I was being just as stupid as Alanis Morisette.
They move shit along FAST at the boob shop. There is no real waiting. Probably because a minute feels like an hour. They take me into the boob smasher and it’s naked time. I have never had a mammogram, nor have I ever even seen one. But I was afraid. They told me not to be. They always say that when you should be afraid. Your boob is literally sandwiched between a little table and a table that slowly closes down on your boob. Sort of like being stuck in an elevator door that decides to kill you by sheer force instead of open up again. But honestly, it doesn’t hurt. It’s just beyond weird to have your boob super smashed and stand there naked, with your arm up to the left and your head to the right and the woman squeezing your boob like it’s playdoh. It’s a whole thing and it’s all weird.
But 10 minutes later and I was done.
And this was the worst part.
They send you to a little room in the back where you sit with other women wearing the same xray shirt. Everyone looks at everyone thinking “why is SHE here?” “is it routine or is she sick?” I felt like they especially looked at me because I’m younger than the standard mammogram patient. That and I was wearing ripped jeans and chucks while they had on trousers and a sensible heel. I felt their pity because I, was clearly not a routine patient.
One by one they were called back. And then I looked to my right and saw that on the little table, I was sitting next to the Holy Bible. It was right next to People and InStyle. Really? REALLY? And that’s when my stomach started knotting shit up like a sailor with a rope. I thought I was going to diarrhea right in that chair. And JUST as I picked up the People with Guiliana on the cover talking about her cancer, I was called back.
I walk into a room with 2 giant computer screens and the glare of my white xray’d boobs flash onto the screen. The doctor asks me if we’re also doing a follow up ultraound.
**Side Note** Our insurance deductible is high. Like stupid high. So that means things like mammograms are not covered until we meet that deductible. Translation, we were paying for this out of pocked and an ultrasound would double the charge**
I told her that I’d prefer not to unless it was necessary. She said it was necessary
Oh god.
But then she said these words
“Because I don’t see anything”
She didn’t see anything. SHE DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING.
I had her feel my little lumpy friend and she suggested we do the ultrasound. The doctor immediately takes me back and within 30 seconds we’re looking at the lump and it’s confirmed.
It’s a fluid filled cyst and nothing at all to worry about.
My brain stopped registering things at that point and my eyes welled up with tears. Because that was my sentence. And I was lucky. SO LUCKY. Again, I never let death and dying enter my brain, but I did think about being a mother to a baby while undergoing surgery or radiation or chemo. I thought about losing my hair or my breasts. I thought about being very sick. I thought about not being able to pick up my baby out of his crib and I thought about G being just too young to understand any of it.
But I was lucky.
And when the doctor left the room, I cried. I cried lots of tears of relief and tears for my family.
I thought about all of the women that go through that office and sat where I sat and got a much different prognosis and how they felt leaving the office. I don’t believe that I deserved this sort of outcome. Because bad things happen to good people. I’m just lucky.
Obviously my message to all of you is to check yourself constantly. If I could feel my entire body for lumps every day, I would. The cellulite would be tricky to navigate, but I’d find a way. I was amazed at how many of you had been through this and how many of my own friends came forward and told me that they had a lumpectomy or a mammogram at 20. I thought about why everyone is so secretive about it. I mean, I get it, it’s scary. But having this community come forward and tell me how many of you came through it ok or maybe are not ok but are fighting, meant everything to me.
I hope more people talk about this so if someone does find a lump you don’t immediately think death and cancer. But you do think doctor and xray right away.
My next one will be at 35.
Do yourself a favor and feel your boobs tonight. Or find a friend to help you out.
It’s amazing how many of my posts are about boobs or vaginas.
That’s all friend.
xoxo
MODG
Hi I’m MODG. But you can call me MODG. You say it like Modg, like a Grandma name. Not like M.O.D.G. That’s a lot of syllables and I don’t have that kind of time. 
